Artist's description:

Acrylic mixed with sand, which creates interesting textures. Painted on a gallery wrapped canvas. Sides are painted like the front so there is no need to frame; ready to hang and signed on the back.

[And So Those Garments Are Wiped Clean By Great Pain]

Walking at the sea’s edge and I find silence within the crashing waves. We all drown in our own silence. We float unadorned and untethered to the suffering song of quiet. Deep calls unto deep. My soul is weary of my life and tempts my body to escape. It culls the favor of my blood and my will.

Imagine light.

The morning kind of light that suffers softly, sweetly. Oh, thy gentle wound, how you’ve strengthened me. What does the Psalmist say when the words waste away in the beggars mouth? The light of the soul bears wings and flies from the rotted sockets.

The soul speaks in silence while I speak in a million tongues and yet, none of them are mine. I’ve gone as far as stealing my prayers from the lips of dead prophets and called them my own. Even in the gulls cry do I hear something more devote, more real than any word I have uttered.

I meant love, although I could never say it. That word. We buried it with a gravediggers shovel just to see if it would resurrect itself and bear our weights and sorrows. Our sins were too sweet to ever want to beg for a savior.

[Temptation tinged with the desire to lose myself between the folds of your fluttering wings.]

As I walk, the rush of the sea invites me in, to leave you once and for all. A gull cries and lifts my eyes toward a silent sky.

Materials used:

acrylic paint, sand

And So Those Garments Are Wiped Clean By Great Pain (v. copper) (2015)

Artist's description:

Acrylic mixed with sand, which creates interesting textures. Painted on a gallery wrapped canvas. Sides are painted like the front so there is no need to frame; ready to hang and signed on the back.

[And So Those Garments Are Wiped Clean By Great Pain]

Walking at the sea’s edge and I find silence within the crashing waves. We all drown in our own silence. We float unadorned and untethered to the suffering song of quiet. Deep calls unto deep. My soul is weary of my life and tempts my body to escape. It culls the favor of my blood and my will.

Imagine light.

The morning kind of light that suffers softly, sweetly. Oh, thy gentle wound, how you’ve strengthened me. What does the Psalmist say when the words waste away in the beggars mouth? The light of the soul bears wings and flies from the rotted sockets.

The soul speaks in silence while I speak in a million tongues and yet, none of them are mine. I’ve gone as far as stealing my prayers from the lips of dead prophets and called them my own. Even in the gulls cry do I hear something more devote, more real than any word I have uttered.

I meant love, although I could never say it. That word. We buried it with a gravediggers shovel just to see if it would resurrect itself and bear our weights and sorrows. Our sins were too sweet to ever want to beg for a savior.

[Temptation tinged with the desire to lose myself between the folds of your fluttering wings.]

As I walk, the rush of the sea invites me in, to leave you once and for all. A gull cries and lifts my eyes toward a silent sky.